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Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / THE Darkness WIthin Chapter 1
The room was in darkness. The only light came from under the bed - the faint glow of a boy’s watch, its fading green hands like insect eyes. Even though he couldn’t see them he knew they were there. Adam and the Ants looking tough in his warrior paint. Boy George and the band smiling down at Daniel, sadness a hint in their eye shadow. The boy had few possessions but his music and the radio gave him solace. He was torn between pulling himself out from under the safe haven of his bed and hiding there forever. How could he face the monster downstairs? The crying of his mother steeled him and he felt like one of those British soldiers in Zulu. He wriggled like a worm, his breath forcing the carpet hairs to part until he reached the edge of his sanctuary. He rested his head against the cold of the metal frame of the bed, then crawled out into the night. He stood slowly, knees first, rising in the shadows, ears tuning to the yelling downstairs. His face was cold with sweat and as hot as a furnace.
“Where the fuck is he?”
“He’s in bed.”
“I’ll show him.”
“Jack don’t.”
Daniel heard the sound of fist on flesh. Heard his mother cry out in pain. He was trapped like a small creature on a highway. Caught between his desire to help her and his fear of what was to come, he could not move. His feet were filled with lead. He reached out, his hands gripping the end of the bed and, struggling for air, he crawled to the door.
“Stupid bitch. You made me do that.”
Daniel’s mother muttered indistinctly. Already the blood must be flowing from a smashed nose, or a busted lip. Daniel’s fingernails bit into scarred palms, a pain that Daniel no longer felt. Pushing the door of his room open, his last chance at safety, the boy saw a beam of weak light streak across the room and the voice of his tormentor.
“Where is that fucking boy?”
He staggered to the top of the stairs and looked down into the abyss. Suddenly his father’s face, a knot of rage, stared up at him.
“There you are, you little bastard. Get down here now.”
Daniel trooped the steps, left, right, left right. He watched his slippered feet, as from a million miles away. Daniel had learnt from experience not to look at his father. The mad eyes, black as night, were unblinking and the boy often felt he would fall into them, never to return. The madness also haunted him in his sleep.
He wondered what the thing was in his father’s hand. Was it a stick, a belt or maybe something Daniel’s father had picked up from the kitchen, himself unaware that it would become a weapon? He couldn’t look, mustn’t look.
A face flashed in his eyes, a boy in his class who had tried to take a pencil from Daniel’s desk, his dirty fingers reaching out, before Daniel had clutched him and squeezed until the tears welled in the boy’s eyes. Daniel was able to watch his own hands as if they were the hands of someone else. Maybe that was how his father felt. There were many other thoughts dashing like a dark river through Daniel’s mind before he felt his father grab him by the arm and almost magically, he soared like an astronaut.
The sweeping gentrification of new wealth had not reached this part of town and, apart from a few gay couples and art students, the suburb was still poor. The terraces where they lived were run down and dilapidated. Daniel ran his left hand down the wall, rubbing a faint patina of yellowy paint on to his fingertips. Above him the globe flickered slightly. The house always had a smell, Daniel was never sure of what, but it made him feel sick. He wanted to be anywhere but here at No 9 Moncur Street.
A common wall joined the two households and the sounds of horror often pushed into their neighbour’s house. Mrs Wilson was an old woman who had seen much in life but she had learnt to be deaf in her old age. At first she had complained to Daniel’s father about the noise but she soon realised the madness of the man.
“Hello Mrs Wilson.” he would chime in the morning before heading off to work on the council cleaning crew. The old lady had thought him a nice man until, after her little Poochy had barked late into the night, she had woken up in the morning with a dead dog dangling from her letterbox. She cried for weeks and was so distraught that she was unable to report it to the police. Frank McKenzie had been solicitous but the old woman was perceptive enough to see the smirk and was afraid for only the second time in her life. When he greeted her of a morning, before his trips to work or to the pub, she was polite then returned to her house and chain locked the door.
The mottled wall stopped him in mid flight. Daniel landed awkwardly, his leg twisting under his body, but he felt nothing. He was numb. The boy tried to clear his mind. He chanted in his head soothing words and once or twice he had heard answering voices, friends that tried to comfort him. But they were fleeting and his head filled with the insistent rhythmic pounding of the belt, one two, one two, a drumbeat on his aching skin, his voice crying out, as one two, one two . . .
Daniel Mc Kenzie woke with a start. He could still hear a steady drumming, a thumping that echoed in the darkened room where he slept in. It was louder than the buzz of cicadas in the eucalypts and the rattle of the washing machine. He sat up slowly, the nightmare still clinging to his mind like a shroud. He had been getting these memories more frequently since he had moved to this town. His feet touched the wooden floor and he stood, eyes adjusting to the shaft from the gap between the blind and the windowsill, squinting at the slit of light that swirled with dust motes.
Gracefully he stepped to the window, dodging his discarded uniform. He looked down on a child, a boy of seven, tossing a ball against the side of the house. He was small and wiry and his black hair bobbed as he weaved back and forth trying to catch the tennis ball as it rebounded from the wall, the ball leaving faint marks on the faded blue paintwork.
“Petey!!”
The voice of a woman drifted from the washing line, the sheets flapping in a summer breeze. Daniel watched as she walked quickly to the boy and grabbed him by the shirt collar.
“What have I told you about playing near the officer’s bedroom?”
The boy grumbled and twisted away from his mother, squirting out into the green of the yard. She looked up, unable to see the man’s face in the darkness of the room. Daniel had felt invisible, a watcher on a tower and he wondered how she knew he was there.
“It’s ok Mrs Stephens. I was awake.”
“I’m sorry . . . Daniel.”
“No worries Grace. I was about to get ready for work.”
“I’ll get a shirt for you.”
“No need to bother.”
“No bother. I’ll just get the iron out.”
Daniel drew back into the cool of the room. Looking down he admired his taut body. Not bad for a forty year old man. He smiled at his vanity. He had always had a strong will. Nothing phased him. Nothing stopped him when he got going. The first week he had arrived in Mulwulla the locals had seen him running the streets at dawn. He had passed the local footy team on their morning run and sprinted hard until they had seen him disappear around the corner. His legs were like iron and his stomach was a washboard rippling with abdominal muscles.
He watched as the woman finished the last of the clothes, her ample body swaying. He still felt the press of her breasts against his shoulders as she had passed him in the hallway. He knew that she fancied him. The way she fussed over him and the small occasions when she made the effort to touch his arm or brush against him in the kitchen as she prepared the dinner. Once or twice she had been near the bathroom door as he left after taking a shower and he felt her eyes on his naked chest. Loneliness is a dreadful thing he thought. In other circumstances he might have entertained the notion . . . no none of that. He was here for other things. The boy had dashed off into the distance and his mother was now going into the house, a wicker basket under her arm. Time to get ready for work.
Grace Stephens loved to have a man around the house. And when Daniel McKenzie had arrived on her doorstep she had almost gone on her knees and praised god. Her friends, especially Emily, had made lots of dirty jokes and Grace was secretly pleased. She would have been more pleased if Daniel had picked up the hints she had dropped. He wasn’t gay, she knew that. He looked at her and she felt the heat. It was just turning that warmth in to a raging fire.
Twenty minutes later he was dressed and seated at the kitchen table, a large wooden monstrosity that Grace had once, downing her fifth glass of wine and full of self pity, told him was left her by her alcoholic husband.
“He only ever gave me three things – Trevor, the table and a heart full of sorrow.”
Daniel forked the egg into his mouth. Just the way he liked it. One thing about Grace was her cooking.
“Take your time Daniel.”
“I’m running late.”
“I’m sure Mick can take care of things till you get there.”
She was right. It was important to be relaxed about things. This was a sleepy little town and he still struggled to adjust to the speed of the place. The man took a paper towel and dabbed at imaginary specks, wiping the last remnants of the meal from his face. Grace Stephens, thirty-six and still a woman with healthy appetites, peered at him, a slight smile creeping across her own lips. She knew men. They may like to play around but when the time came to settle down they appreciate a good homemaker. And he was all man, this Daniel McKenzie. Fro the hundredth time her eyes swept over the tall, strong and still handsome bloke. And he didn’t look forty. Turn around she thought. Turn around and notice me. If she wished hard enough it would happen. To have a man hold me in his arms. To be safe. To be loved.
“Better get going.”
He stood as he talked, his freshly ironed shirt still with a lemon scent clinging to it.
“Mick might be cool about tardiness but he’ll chew my ear off if highway patrol is not out by peak hour.”
“Revenue raising are we?”
Daniel laughed.
“Gotta keep those politicians happy back in Sydney.”
Grace stood at the screen door, recently repaired, and watched him climb into his car. She stepped out into the sunlight.
“What time will you be back?”
“I think it will be the whole night shift. Saturday night and the cockies are in town.” He gave her his lop-sided grin.
“We’ll be very busy.”
She lightly touched his arm, hair rising at the static.
“Be careful.”
He laughed again.
“I’m always careful.”
As he drove down the almost empty streets of Mulwulla Daniel thought about how far he had come. Although it was a little quiet for his tastes the policeman had grown to appreciate the secret pleasures the town offered.
I could settle down here he thought. Maybe then the dreams would stop Perhaps if he could find a place that he could call home the nightmares would ease off. For too many years he had been trying to hide from his past. The counsellors had been no help at all, and he felt above them. He knew that if you didn’t experience the pain you could never really know how it felt. Daniel had experienced pain. He shook his head, blinking away the blackness. He realised he was clutching the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle a chicken. He laughed to himself.
His mind flickered back to his childhood. But a pleasant memory this time, just about the most fun he had had as a boy. Killing animals had become a pastime to him. He remembered the first time. Across the road were those wogs, as the local kids named them, the Krustys. The Kruslinskis. Old man K was a nice old bastard. Often he’d let Daniel wait outside his fruit shop until his father had finished his drinking in the pub and was staggering home. And Mrs K would make him cakes and lemon drinks and chatted to him about her little darlings. Then he got the idea. It throbbed for weeks until he satisfied it. Killing his neighbour’s chickens. Dirty filthy things - no-one had ever suspected. He smiled at the thought of old Mrs Kruslinski as she stood at the door, the dead chook in her hand, offering it to Daniel’s mother. Even the old man was speechless at the roast chicken dinner he ate that night. But Mr K had begun to peer at him in strange way after that. Daniel remembered the look in his eyes under the bushy grey eyebrows. Questioning. Searching Daniel’s face.
Daniel glanced up as someone waved at him.
“Hey Danny”
Jim, from the hardware store was standing on the footpath watching women walk by. Damn thought Daniel. There was something about Jim that got under Daniel’s skin. Maybe it was the pitiful way he let his wife walk over him. Or the pathetically desperate way he ogled any woman that came within clutching distance. But the middle-aged man with the thinning hair was so ineffectual very few women found him offensive.
There was a time when the two men had worked together to raise the money to build new dressing sheds for the footy club. By the end of all the fund raising efforts all the big policeman had was a few thousand dollars for the cause and a desire to strangle the bloke sitting next to him. Daniel was just waiting for the day a sexual harassment complaint was made against the small businessman. Not much chance of that in this town.
“Hey Danny.”
Daniel bridled at this. He deserved a little more respect than that. He almost stopped to have a quiet word but glancing at the clock in the dash he knew he wouldn’t have time.
“Later.” He muttered under his breath.
The businessman, in his striped shirt, work trousers and cable knit jumper watched the policeman roll down the main street. There was something about him thought Jim sullenly. There was a . . . darkness that seemed to rise up in his eyes at funny moments. The hardware salesman thought back to a conversation they had while sitting at a table on a Saturday morning selling tickets.
“So what do you think of our little town?”
Daniel glanced at him.
“Lovely place. A man could settle here.”
But as he spoke his hands twisted in a knot. As if a surge of anger was being held in check. Jim looked at him sideways and saw something he did not like.
“Good to hear. We need fresh blood in this place.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Why did you leave Sydney?”
“There were problems.”
“Problems?”
“A criminal I had to deal with. But the powers that be didn’t like my methods.”
“I understand. Dirty job. But someone has to do it.”
“Exactly. And I did the job well.”
The smile was slightly crooked and the tone of his voice. They came from a strange place.
Jim gulped at the memory. Detective Daniel McKenzie was not a man to be crossed.
The day had turned a little cold. Jim went back inside waited for customers.
The Black Holden swooped into the car park. Parking under the huge acacia that leant over the demountable Daniel walked steadily into the shadows that were cast by the huge old tree. He pushed against the door, noticing the warmth. The Sarge must have put the heaters on early. Mick Young was standing at the counter filling in S13s. He said without looking up.
“Detective.”
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Rhonda9080 reviewed Version 1 -
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raebethmcgee reviewed Version 1 -
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There are several curse words that some may find offensive. There are ways to express anger within words without using bold curse words. I believe that they are over used and other words could replace the curse words. These words can still represent the anger the character is feeling. The topic that is being written about is a sensitive subject to begin with.
The plot of the novel is great. The characters are well defined. The details are lacking. Adding in more description will add to the readers imagination.
The smile was slightly crooked and the tone of his voice. <--- This is an incomplete thought. What about the tone in his voice?
A little revision will make this a successful novel.
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cursorblock reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the ideas in this. It kind of reminds me of Dexter. The notion that it takes someone with some sort of ‘history’ to catch others like himself. He’s a kind of anti-hero that you want to simultaneously route for and dispise.
You asked for clarity. I like what you did by introducing this with the dream / flashback. For clarity sake, I wonder if you couldn’t just remove the whole side portion related to Mrs. Wilson? It kind of sidetracks things and drops us out of the intensity. I don’t think its necessary to keep the story flowing forward but as always, your call.
When he wakes, I was a little confused. Perhaps a little more separation between the dream and him waking up. I also wonder if you should mention his present age and appearance right after he wakes up. As is, I imagined him as a boy, waking up, as if the next morning from being thrown by his dad. You do go into description and age but it comes a little later.
A couple of things that confused me:
- The smile was slightly crooked and the tone of his voice.
Do you mean the tone of his voice was slightly crooked? I’m not sure what that even means.
- sleepy little town and he still struggled to adjust to the speed of the place
If the town is sleepy, can it be speedy? Seems contradictory. I think I know what you mean to say but the opposite comes across here.
I like this character. He has a past and issues that he has been dealing with for a long time. There are facets of himself he keeps hidden from others. He is trying to do what is right and good so he has somewhat of a moral compass. He has inner turmoil and we want to route for him in his struggle between bad and good. I think with some clean up this will be really sharp. Thanks for posting.
BTBeamon reviewed Version 1 -
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Interesting first chapter. It took me a little while to get into what was going on. However, once the ‘dream’ was finished I understood what it was. I particularly liked the use of flashbacks to show more about the characters. It’s pretty clear that the main character has some (possibly) unresolved issues, and certainly a darkness about him. I did notice a few redundant words which made some sentences unnecessarily drawn out, I couldn’t cite any without digging throughout the entire chapter again, though I’m sure you’ll spot them while proofing/editing.
Lillie_M reviewed Version 1 -
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I think you could rework the first paragraph. I thought he was in bed, not under it. And maybe clarify that it’s the posters of the pop stars. You also put ‘his music and his radio’. Does he have a stereo and a radio? Guessing the story is based in the 70’s at that time, it’s likely he just had a radio so: the music from his radio. How long were the carpet hairs in order for his body to part them? From the impression you gave the house wan’t new, so I would assume the furnishes weren’t either. therefore the carpet would be matted and flat. Can his face be both hot and cold? Maybe: his face was wet with sweat and as hot as a furnace. Use He instead of The boy if it’s his POV. The same applies later on with The man and He, unless you are trying to establish some kind of split personality.
as from a million – as if from
The mad eyes – If he’s not looking it needs to be refer to them as they normally were
You have both Mc Kenzie and McKenzie
Would you describe him as graceful, a forty year old man who takes pride in his body would move in a more purposeful way in my opinion. He would stride as opposed to float, if you get what I mean?
Daniel Mc Kenzie woke with a start – If everything before this was a dream, then make this a clear separation.
You change to Grace’s POV in the middle of page six and then straight back to Daniel’s. And the same on page seven. Also with him and Jim.
One thing – One good thing
Fro – For
Mulwulla Daniel – Mulwulla, Daniel
Across the road were those wogs, as the local kids named them – For me personally, I don’t like the use of the word. But if you are to use it possibly elaborate on why they were referred to as that. If that was how it was then, this gives you a way to show us that. That may make sense in OZ, but to me; a Brit, it doesn’t unless you give it a reason.
You definitely need to work on the mechanics of your writing. I’m not saying mine is perfect but there was a lot of POV shifts and missed commas that would help the way your story reads, but that’s common in a first draft.
Although I did find it a little confusing at times, moving from past to present very quickly. I did like the concept of the story. Daniel could turn out to be a very interesting character. He obviously has a lot of demons from his past and there’s the potential for conflicts and drama as he tries to deal with these. I think maybe you were trying to give us lots of information quickly. You could decide what you want or feel we need to know straight away and leave the rest until later on.
I hope this helps and good luck.
MsB reviewed Version 1 -
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The story was a bit hard to follow. I might be missing the boat here, but it seemed that you bounced from one idea to another without giving the reader any warning. I liked Daniel’s character but I couldn’t follow where he or the story was going. Maybe that’s the mystery of it all. Good luck.
Matthewtuckey reviewed Version 1 -
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First, why capitalise the whole word THE in the title? If the very first thing people see looks wrong, people will have low expectations.
‘his warrior paint’- their warrior paint.
‘sadness a hint’? Not ‘a hint of sadness’? Interesting intro though.
Do you mean ‘in the film, Zulu’?
‘and as hot as a furnace.’- contradictory. ‘but, to the boy, still felt as hot as a furnace’- this might work. But then, who would think he had cold skin? It’s only the boy who’s aware of these details.
When are small creatures ‘trapped’ on highways? They might be killed there, or might be startled by headlights. ‘Trapped’ implies a confined space.
‘His feet were filled with lead.’ I get that it’s a metaphor, but I think it would work better as a simile. The rest of the text is very literal and this kind of jumped out.
I think you’re typecasting ‘gay couples and art students’ as a higher class of people from the rest. It’s a bit stereotypical.
‘The sweeping gentrification’- I think before you tell us this you need to tell us where we are and who we’re with- Mrs Wilson, next door. It just gives us the info in the right order.
‘stomach was a washboard’- cliche. Can you describe it in a more original way?
Italicise ALL direct thought, i.e. the exact words he is thinking.
‘Fro the hundredth’- For
‘For too many years he had been trying to hide from his past.’- I think we already know this, leaving the line redundant. The rest of the para is going well though.
‘a nice old bastard’- strange phrase. Not sure what’s being said here.
‘“Later.” He muttered’- Change full stop to comma.
‘roll down the main street.’- Not stroll? Roll sounds like he’s lying down.
The end bit about police methods- the best police stories always have details that show research into the police (Irvine Welsh’s Crime and loads of James Ellroy stories.) Perhaps you should ask a policeman what might have been the issue there. Put us in the scene.
loveandrockets28 reviewed Version 1 -
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this is one of the best written things i’ve read here…. it’s scary and foreboding… i can’t wait to read the rest of this!
matteyxx reviewed Version 1 -
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Your writing is very mature and descriptive. I enjoyed it! No grammatic mistakes, the only suggestion I have is to describe more of the characters’ feelings rather than simple facts.
Hope I helped!
prettyladykatt reviewed Version 1 -
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“Mrs Wilson was an old woman who had seen much in life but she had learnt to be deaf in her old age”
The word “learnt” should be spelled “learned”.
“In other circumstances he might have entertained the notion . . . no none of that.”
This sentence read a little bit confusing at first, I think there should be a comma after no:
“no, none of that.”
That way the reader knows right away that Daniel is disagreeing with himself, and it reads more smoothly.
“Daniel forked the egg into his mouth. Just the way he liked it. One thing about Grace was her cooking.”
This third sentence sounds confusing. I understand that because Daniel was eating, and he enjoyed the eggs, then he was also enjoy Grace’s cooking. But the way it is worded here sounds off.
Perhaps stating what that one thing about Grace and her cooking is about. Such as:
“One good thing about Grace was her cooking.”
Or something to that effect. Otherwise the reader will question, what one thing?
“Fro the hundredth time her eyes swept over the tall,”
The word “fro” should be spelled “for”.
“Grace stood at the screen door, recently repaired, and watched him climb into his car.”
I liked the subtlety of Grace being happy that there is a man around the house now, sentences such as this one, where the screen door is recently repaired, give the reader nice clues that Daniel is helping our around the house. Repairing broken screen doors and such.
“There was something about him thought Jim sullenly.”
This should be the beginning of a new paragraph. Because it changes from Daniel’s thoughts, to Jim’s, it should have a distinction between the two. Otherwise it reads very much like jumbled sentences.
“The smile was slightly crooked and the tone of his voice. They came from a strange place.”
These two sentences sound choppy, but if they were to be combined into one sentence, it would read smoother.
“The smile was slightly crooked, and his tone of voice seemed to come from a strange place.”
Something to that effect.
“Parking under the huge acacia that leant over the demountable Daniel walked steadily into the shadows that were cast by the huge old tree.”
This is a second time that I have noticed using a “t” at the end of a word instead of the usual “ed”. I am not sure if this is done on purpose, but it is distracting. If using the “t” is supposed to lend the reader a bit of the accents that these characters use, I would suggest to put it in dialogue only, and use “ed” when it is not part of someone’s speech.
Overall this is a good start, I enjoyed most of the dialogue the character’s shared, and how Daniel is being tormented by his dreams and possible abuse from earlier years. I especially like the tension between Grace and Daniel. And there are enough foreshadowing details within the narrative to develop a good story between the two. And I like how it is not clear yet whether Daniel is going to follow in his father’s footsteps and also be abusive or fight through it and “settle down” in this quiet town.
Keep up the good work.
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